Eight Months
by monkeymilktea
Summary: AU. A lot can happen in just a few months. From a zombie apocalypse ripping apart the UK, Murdoc Niccals never really expected to survive as long as he did, but he was smart and he would continue to use people to his own gain. But upon meeting certain people in this trying time, maybe it would have been better to be alone.
1. Chapter 1

Eight months. It had been only eight months. It really wasn't that long ago in retrospect, everything just happened so fast.

It started as another pandemic that broke out across Europe, another disease that had surfaced itself as itching, red sores all over a person's arms and face. No one knew what it was nor had they any idea how to treat it. Eventually the untreated sores evolved into symptoms of nausea and a series of coughs until it mutated into something far worse.

Slowly, it infected the patient's brains, causing a form of mental decay and ate away at their bodies, leaving behind an animalistic corpse that only had basic survival reflexes. These emotionally stunted, carnivorous shells were so longer seen as people because they were, scientifically, not among the living anymore.

Mass hysteria insured within the first few weeks, as friends and loved one's began to rip each other apart with this sickness finally taking over. It was a massacre that had more people becoming infected and turning at faster rates and left what was left of humanity in shambles.

Murdoc Niccals scoffed as he read the newspaper from under his Cuban heeled boots. On the front page were the words "A Cure in the Making" in bold print followed by a picture of three supposed scientists milling about in their lab, wearing large white lab coats and protective goggles like what he used to wear in Biology class in high school before dissecting a frog. He wasn't even sure why he was reading this.

Reading the top right corner, Murdoc let out a hearty chuckle deep in the back of his throat. The date this newspaper was published was a little over three months ago.

"So, where's that cure you promised you bunch of quacks?" he asked himself aloud, jagged teeth showing in a crooked smile, finally stepping away from the littered piece of paper and continued on his way. To where, Murdoc couldn't really say.

After the initial outbreak it became apparent that the British government didn't really care about helping their people; thousands were unrightfully quarantined while hundreds more were "put down" under the assumption that they were infected. Whoever was left behind had to gang together to protect themselves from the unjust tyranny.

Even Murdoc had a band of misfits which he called "Satan's Scrotum". Well, it wasn't official or anything but it got a few laugh from the boys, though soon enough everyone in the band learned to fear and respect their Satanic and unrivaled leader; Murdoc himself.

Or, that was what the Satanist thought before the boys knocked him over the head with his own bottle of liquor, beat his unconscious body to a pulp and ran off with his prized Winnebago.

"Those bastards," Murdoc growled, taking out his pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit one, dragging deeply. "They left me for dead. Me! Murdoc Niccals!" He huffed as he blew smoke out of his mouth, touching the tender skin around his now broken nose, wincing as he did so. "If it wasn't for me those lot would have been dead within the first month. Ungrateful fuckin' sods."

At least they were merciful and dropped his long duffle bag on top of him. Literally. It was full of the "Murdoc Essentials" -a pack of cigarettes, non-perishable food, quite a bit of liquor, a handgun with ammunition, and his prized Flying V bass dubbed _El Diablo_. A parting gift from Satan, at least that was what Murdoc liked to tell people.

With another long drag of his cigarette, Murdoc continued down the road, the click of his heeled boots resonating on the pavement the only sound that surrounded him for a long while. Besides the completely totaled cars littered on the road and the occasion garbage that was blown in from a nearby town, there was nothing and, more importantly, no one around to try and rip his face off.

Then again, Murdoc never did have the best of luck.

It took of moment for Murdoc to realize that it wasn't so quiet after all. His stroll came to a stop, as he strained his ears to listen to the sounds coming in the distance. Distorted, strangled noises could barely be heard but they were distinct enough for the Satanist to know that trouble was afoot.

With an agitated sigh, Murdoc flicked away the forgotten remains of his cigarette, stubbing it out with his heel, and pulled his handgun from the belt loop on his worn-down jeans. (He left himself a mental note to look for a gun holster in the next town.) After making sure he had enough bullets, Murdoc readied the gun, safety off with his finger on the trigger.

Feeling prepared for anything, Murdoc continued on his way at a slightly faster pace, running his dirty fingers through his greasy, dark hair. He may not have been the most hygienic man alive (he never even brushed his teeth) but he would literally _kill_ for at least five minutes of running hot water for his sore muscles.

Just as suddenly as the far-off noises started, however, it stopped. Pausing again, Murdoc held his pistol ready, slowly turning around and faced—

Nothing. No one, or thing, was there. The Satanist furrowed his brows behind dark fringe, concentrating hard on the road behind him, analyzing every area, making absolutely sure that there was no infected or—_Satan forbid_—people ready to attack him. With the coast clear, Murdoc spun around on his heel, ready to run for it.

That is, until he ran completely face-first into a large torso. Murdoc and said torso, along with the person attached, tumbled down onto the concrete pavement, knocking the wind out of Murdoc's lungs and his pistol from his hand.

The other person seemed to be doing far better, now trying to straddle Murdoc's hips, wildly flailing their arms in a poor attempt to harm him, snarling in his face, specks of saliva and blood splattering all over Murdoc's shirt. Holding back on the assailant with the sleeve of his jacket, the Satanist could clearly see now that the person before him is obviously infected.

A fairly overweight fellow, balding at the top of his head, the infected looked to be in his forties, hitting fifty soon. His skin was an ashen grey and his clothes were very casual; a regular T-shirt with a band logo and capris shorts that have been turned into a tattered and bloody mess. His blank eyes burned into Murdoc's as he tried to bite at the downed man's face.

"Get offa me, you lard arse!" Murdoc growled, desperately kicking at the infected assaulter on him and pushing his face away, mindful of the undead's mouth. The zombie man seemed very determined to make a meal out of the Satanist, however, growling in return and doubled its efforts in its attack. Murdoc's dichromatic searched wildly for a chance to escape, some way to save himself from this situation. He was _not_ going to die here! Not now, not ever!

Seems luck had finally decided to turn in Murdoc's favor.

Without any warning, the butt of a shot gun connected to the side of the infected man's head, a crack resonating from its skull as it rolls off of the Satanist. The zombie was in such shock from the impact that it never had a chance to react before the stranger took aim and shot a round into its head. With a gurgled cry, the infected stopped moving. The stranger then fired another bullet into its head before turning to look at Murdoc.

Saying this stranger before him was big would have been an understatement; the man before him was a behemoth of a person with dark skin and milky pools in place of where his pupils are supposed to be. The wide-set man looked at Murdoc with a very displeased look, curling his lips into a snarl before his expression suddenly softened when he looked past the downed man.

Sitting up, Murdoc rubbed the sore spot on his left shoulder he landed harshly on before he felt someone behind him tap their finger on his other shoulder. Twisting himself ever so slightly, Murdoc was sure that his eyes widen ever so slightly at what he saw.

Standing before him, holding his misplaced handgun out to him, was a little Asian girl no more than twelve years old. Her short black hair was mainly obscured by some strange helmet and the jacket she wore was definitely two sizes too big for her stick-like frame.

Slowly, as if in a daze, Murdoc took his gun back and looked at it. The safety was turned back on. The little miss must have done that just in case. Smart idea, you can never really know when someone will turn on you, even after you save their hide. Though the thought that the girl before him had to go through something like that didn't really sit well with Murdoc.

"Tatakai." The girl said, finally stepping away to pick up a backpack with a cute cartoon character on it, the front of it littered in stickers and food stains.

Murdoc blinked owlishly before realizing that she was speaking in another language. Great, a language barrier. "Alright? Uh, I suppose you lot want a thank you or something." He said, standing up and dusting his pants fruitlessly. Some dirt and stains are just destined to stay where they are. Collecting himself, Murdoc walked to his forgotten duffle bag as the large man spoke up.

"You should be grateful that me and Noodle over here didn't let you become someone's lunch, you cracka' ass." He said in almost a growl, his deep but soft baritone giving off a slight American accent, but there was something else there too. Must have been in England for quite some time then.

"What the fuck kind of name is _'Noodle'_, anyway?" Murdoc asked incredulously, "I can clearly see that she's Asian, but come on, man!"

Shuffling his own bag over his shoulder, the wide man glared at Murdoc with those eerie white eyes. Then, without another word, the man turned and started to walk away, motioning for the girl, Noodle, to follow closely. She stared at Murdoc for a long while before slowly catching up to the other man, giving Murdoc a look that said she wanted to ask him to join them, but couldn't really find the right words.

Running his fingers through his dirty hair, Murdoc watched the two walk off. He heaved a heavy and annoyed sigh, clipping his pistol to its place in his belt loop and started to follow them. "Wait, wait, waaait!" He called after them, walking in a brisk pace to reach them before they disappeared from sight, waving his arms dramatically to catch their attention.

The duo ahead of him stopped in their tracks and turned around face the Satanist. The other man had a very disinterested look on his face, but the younger girl looked absolutely delighted to see Murdoc coming towards them.

"Listen, I know we probably started off on the wrong foot earlier," Murdoc began nonchalantly, hands raised in surrender to show that he meant no harm. He had done this enough times before when making bands; show them you come in peace, give them a proposition they can't refuse, and bam! You got a gang to look behind your back. Sure, some of them ended rather poorly—Murdoc thought bitterly of his last group, those wankers—but so long as he can survive this will be his routine.

"But I think it to be in our best interest to stick around together. Y'know, _'strength in numbers'_ and all that." He gave a shrug, looking for their responses. Little Noodle seemed pleased, but her giant counterpart needed a bit more nudging, judging by the slight lift in his lips. Unconvinced, the dark man was about to turn and leave again but Murdoc stopped him just in time.

"You can't honestly expect to protect her forever, do you?" He asked. The wide-set man's head snapped back to look at the Satanist, anger flaring in his nostrils, his brows knitted tightly. Murdoc continued, "What are you going to do when there's a hoard, huh? Protect her all by yourself? You may be big, but you're no one man army."

The other man's anger seemed to disappear and be replaced with self-doubt and contemplation before looking down at Noodle. The little girl gave him a wide grin and nodded, though she most likely had no idea what the two adults were talking about. The larger male gave a defeated sigh before looking back to Murdoc, "Don't make me regret this, man." He said.

_Hook, line, and sinker_, Murdoc thought, pleased with his work. The large man huffed, extending his meaty hand to Murdoc. "Name's Russel Hobbs—if we're to be acquainted we might as well know each other's names." The man, Russel, said.

The dark haired male couldn't help but crinkle his nose. He hadn't really considered how long they would travel together, but he quickly turned the charm back on and shook Russel's outstretched hand with his own, grimy digits. "Murrrrdoc Niccals." He said, his grin exposing his sharp, snaggled teeth.

"Noodle!" The little girl shouted, hands shooting up in the air. Russel gave her a soft smile and ruffled her helmet, purposefully skewing it and messing up her short haircut, causing Noodle to shout in distress and duck away, giggling as she righted her helmet. "So, Murdoc," Russel began. "Where are we going now?"

Murdoc hummed and looked around the group. Finally, a bit ahead of them, was a highway sign, a bright green beacon. The Satanist made his way towards it and the others followed, hoping for an answer. After some consideration and observation, Murdoc pointed to one of the closer cities on the sign.

"We'll head for Crawley."


	2. Chapter 2

If Murdoc Niccals had known that the walk to Crawley would have been this awkward, he honestly would have just let that zombie eat him from before.

Between the large, dark man who spoke few and far between during their journey- and had let it be known to the Satanist that he did not like him at_ all-_and the tiny ten year old who barely spoke any English, Murdoc was certain this was going to be a long trip.

At first Murdoc was ecstatic that the duo wouldn't try to have small-talk of "where-do-you-come-from"s or "why-the-inverted-cross-around-your-neck" and other such topics that pry too much into his personal life, but now? Now he was bored to tears by these two! Though it wasn't really Noodle's fault, what with the language barrier between them making it difficult to communicate. She does try though, and Murdoc was able to get her to learn his name but that was only after an hour into their long walk and they both have since then dropped conversation.

Releasing an irritated groan, which Murdoc purposefully extended to annoy his companions, he finally spoke after what felt like forever. "How much _longer_ until we reach this stupid, bloody town?" He complained, turning to Russel who was behind the group as look-out (or as Murdoc saw it, guy-who-gets-attacked-first-so-he-can-escape) and giving the larger man a sour frown. Russel wasn't up for the Satanist's antics, however, and simply kept looking forward (or was he? It was so hard to tell when he had no visible iris or pupils) before answering the dark haired male ahead.

"We just passed a sign. Should be another quarter mile before he hit Crawley." He said, shuffling his belongings from one shoulder to the other.

Murdoc groaned even louder, "Whose fuckin' idea was it to go to shitty Crawley anyway?" he nearly growled, running his fingers through his dark, dirty hair. Russel finally turned to look at him.

"It was your idea." He snapped, milky white eyes boring holes into Murdoc's head. "If Noods and me had a choice, we'd go our separate ways and never see your face again. But we don't got that luxury now, do we?" Murdoc simply rolled his mismatched eyes, gritting his sharp teeth. "Oi, don' get yer knickers in a bunch, tubby." He said, straightening out his sore back as he continued on his way, certain that Russel's blank eyes were boring through his head the whole time.

Moments later, Noodle wandered up to Murdoc, keeping up to his long strides, and stared up at him, her face contorting into a question that won't seem to form in what little English she knew. Murdoc only pretended to not notice her, looking at the road ahead and on the sidewalks, high on alert.

After realizing that just staring at the taller man wasn't going to get his attention, the tiny girl changed her tactic, bravely grabbing Murdoc's jacket sleeve and tugged it, once, twice, three times. Giving in to the kid's demands, Murdoc looked down at her. "What is it, what do ye want?" he asked none too kindly, but Noodle didn't seem to notice, or ignored his tone.

Instead she pointed to her nose, wrinkling it slightly to imitate how Murdoc's now looks. "Hurt?" She asked, her voice thick with an accent and worry. Suddenly feel self-conscious, the Satanist covered his broken schnoz and glared at the now giggling child.

"No, et doesn't bloody hurt!" Noodle wasn't convinced though. She shook her head, reaching behind into her colorful backpack and skillfully pulled out a neon green band aid, offering it to Murdoc.

The dark haired man, however, vehemently walked further ahead, disregarding Noodle's gift to him. The sooner they get to Crawley, the better, Murdoc thought.

As if by some strange turn of fate, buildings from the town could be seen in the distance and Murdoc could almost feel the glee burst deep within his gut. Now that he was further ahead of the duo, too, he figured it wouldn't hurt to poke around and see what they were dealing with.

As far as he could see, there appeared to be a fork in the road; a driveway into someone's home, perhaps. Deciding to play it safe for once, Murdoc walked down the gravel fork, away from the city.

"Yo, Murdoc!" Russel called out, finally catching up to the fork along with a very confused Noodle, staring after the taller man. "Crawley's that way. Where the hell are you going?"

"To a safe house, mate." Murdoc replied, gesturing to the sky, already in various hues of pinks, purples, and blues, slowly getting darker. "It's late and I'd rather not have to feel around to see where I'm going just to have some infected prick bite me, yeah?" With that, the Satanist continued on his path, Russel and Noodle a bit reluctantly followed not far behind.

Sure enough, the group arrived to the steps of what could only be assumed as an abandoned farmhouse. It definitely didn't look smashed in; the door and windows were still intact, though a lot of ivy was growing on the sides, climbing its way to the second story window panes.

"I think it would be best if we made sure this place isn't _occupied_, right Murdoc?" Russel asked, motioning his bald head to the front doors of the old house. Murdoc nodded in agreement, pulling his pistol out of his belt loop as he strode to the door. He tested the waters by rattling the doorknob to scare off whatever creature could be on the other side before attempting to twist it open. Finding it unlocked, Murdoc slammed it open, gun out and ready. Nothing jumped out at him so he turned to Russel and gave a quick nod.

Russel turned to Noodle, kneeling to be at her eye level and staring into her with his blank eyes. "Noodle," He said, slowly. "Stay here, okay?" Grinning broadly, Noodle enthusiastically nodded her head, helmet shaking with her movement and dark strands of hair falling over one eye.

"_Hai_!" The American chuckled, tucking the misplaced hair back into the girl's helmet, patting it when he was done before rising and following the Satanist into the house, leaving Noodle by herself.

And she would have stayed in that exact spot too had it have not been for her excellent hearing picking up strange noises close by. Alert, the Japanese girl cautiously followed the noise to the backyard.

Treading silently, Noodle could make out soft moans getting closer as she made her way to a very tall, long dead tree where she saw the shadow of a figure there, unmoving. Bracing herself, she jumped out in front of the figure, ready for a confrontation.

Instead, she screamed.

Meanwhile, Russel and Murdoc inspected the farmhouse, finding it relatively empty minus a mouse here and there, but otherwise it just looked to be completely abandoned by whoever used to live here. Russel eventually searched the back and found a generator and turned it on. Suddenly, the house began to hum to life; lights flickered on, a sink upstairs seemed to be running, and an air-conditioner drummed quite loudly.

"Cut that shit off!" Murdoc snapped, poking his head through the back doorframe. "You'll attract every fucking infected in town with that."

Right before Russel could reply, however, a high-pitched scream ripped through the air causing both men to whip their heads around in the direction it came from.

Russel reacted first. "Noodle!" He called out, breaking into a mad sprint to the girl who kept screaming, this time in spit-fire Japanese that neither man could even make out if they tried.

Following close behind, Murdoc expected the worse—infected hoard, mutated animals (he heard those fuckers could get big…) or worse, another gang whose territory they just unknowingly entered.

He wasn't exactly prepared for what he saw instead.

Tied up by the wrists to one of the high, dead branches of the tree, was a tall, young man in perhaps his early twenties. Despite how tall he was, however, his feet still dangled below him, untied converse barely scraping the ground below him. He was certainly odd; stick thin with a mop of spiky blue hair (who dyes their hair anymore, honestly? In these times?). Looking closer, Murdoc could easily see now that the poor sod was bleeding rather badly on his head, the red contrasting and blending with the blue strands, caked to the sides of his rather pale and bruised face. The liquid dripped down onto his yellow, long-sleeve shirt, permanently staining the bright material.

"Sweet Satan." Murdoc breathed.

Behind him, Noodle was still yelling something at Russel that he couldn't catch as the other male desperately tried to calm the girl panicked down. "Do'ya think he's still alive?" He asked Murdoc, almost in a whisper. As if to answer him, the boy began to stir and cough, causing all three to gasp in surprise.

"W-whozzat..?" The young man began quietly in a thick Cockney accent, trying to open his eyes but when he did he quickly shut them again, sharply hissing in pain through his teeth. Or rather, a gap through his teeth, the front two seemed to be missing.

Russel tried to go near the kid but Murdoc stopped him, hand gripping the other man's shoulder, dichromatic eyes hard in a glare. "Leave 'im." He commanded, his voice deep and guttural. Finally, he released the large man's squishy shoulder and began to saunter off back to the safe house.

"We can't just_ leave_ the kid here; he's still alive! We can help him." Russel pleaded, staring at the injured young man dangling pitifully, his consciousness swimming around, muttering something about needing to use the toilet badly. Whatever strength the skinny twerp had was disappearing fast.

"Oh yes we fuckin' _can_." Murdoc argued without turning to Russel, pulling out his packet of cigarettes and lit one. "Why do you think he's even here, mate?" Murdoc asked, pointing to the tree with the hand that was occupied with the cancer-stick. When the white-eyed man didn't answer, Murdoc continued. "Obviously the zombies couldn't have roped him up and left him 'ere for fun, right? This kid," He finally turned around, expression dark. "Fucked up somefin' fierce and now he's payin' the price." With that said, Murdoc stuck the cigarette between his lips and dragged the toxic smoke in deeply.

Russel frowned. "Whatever he did doesn't matter now. He could be helpful to us," He dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a hunting knife, making his way to the blue hair boy. "After all, '_safety in numbers'_. Those were your words, Murdoc."

Murdoc gritted his teeth, throwing his arms up in the air in defeat. "Fuckin' whatever. But if that dullard smothers me in my sleep, I will haunt your fat arse, got it?" He said with a growl, puffing away grumpily at his cigarette. It was obvious that Russel wasn't going to leave the kid there and would have cut him loose anyways, but that doesn't mean Murdoc still can't be bitter about it.

Without further interruption, Russel took the knife and began sawing away at the thick rope tightly binding the poor blue haired boy's thin wrists. Freed at last, the stranger slumped forward, completely unconscious.

Russel quickly caught him, scooping the blue haired boy over his shoulder. Feeling a slight tug on his pants leg, the American looked down at a very concerned Noodle, her brows knitted tightly together in worry.

"_Kare wa daijōbudeshou ka_?" She asked slowly, not taking her eyes off of the blood stained blue hair. Although Russel could not understand all of what she said, he was certain she was asking about the young man who was currently out for the count.

"He's gonna be alright, baby-girl." The black male reassured her, taking her tiny hand in his large, free one and started back to the safe farmhouse. "Let's go get him cleaned up, okay?"

Murdoc trailed after them after a few moments to himself, madly puffing on his cigarette to calm his nerves. Checking the edges of the littered backyard, the Satanist found no traces of any infected or the mark of a named band. Crushing the remains of his cigarette with the heel of his Cuban boots, Murdoc made his way back to the house, where he pretended not to notice the unconscious tall man on the dirty, worn couch, or Russel cleaning the blood from his head wounds with a washcloth (possibly from the bathroom upstairs, if Murdoc recalled the running water from earlier) and Noodle standing beside him, colorful band aids in hand.

Heaving a sigh, the dark haired man slumped into the worn recliner that sat opposite to the occupied couch. Feeling bored of watching Russel play nurse, Murdoc reached for his dropped duffle bag for his bass and began strumming a nonsensical tune until the wide-set male in front of him stood from his crouched position.

"There's an empty room upstairs he can rest in." Russel said, more to himself than to Murdoc. The bassist wasn't paying him much mind anyways. Gently, the black male picked up the younger blue haired teen and carried him up the stairs, the boy's long, bony limbs swished back and forth with the heavy footfalls.

Murdoc scoffed when Russel was out of earshot. "What a poof."

Turning his attention to the child in front of him, Murdoc continued playing on his bass as they watched each other. Eventually, Noodle became brave enough to get closer to the bassist and sat right in front of him, admiring how his untrimmed, cracked nails strummed the chords of the instrument.

Suddenly, he stopped. "What's with the helmet, luv? Bad haircut or somefin'?" He asked, tapping her helmet lightly. He figured it was a safe question and hoped she would understand. Thankfully, she caught on and gave a small "oh!" in realization, quickly taking her helmet off, showing the inside to Murdoc.

"Head-phone!" She exclaimed happily, her thick Japanese accent cutting through the words like a sword. Peering into the helmet Murdoc saw that there was, in fact, a pair of speakers on either side where Noodle's ears would be. He took the headphones into his hands and inspected it further, whistling lowly.

"Impressive." He said, handing it back to the girl, flicking the antenna jutting out from one of the earphones. "That bit for a radio or somefin'?" He asked. Noodle gave him a blank look, tilting her head from side to side, her messy black hair following her movement. After a moment of confused silence, Murdoc tried again, much slower while pointing to the helmet. "Radio?"

Finally understanding what the bassist meant, Noodle grinned, showing off her pearly whites. "_Hai_!" She exclaimed, putting her helmet back on. Right then the heavy stomps of Russel could be heard coming down the stairs. Moments later confirmed that the large American was now on the first floor with everyone else. It took all of Murdoc's inner strength to not make a snide remark over how the other male was acting towards the blue haired stranger.

"So," Russel began, taking a seat in the now empty couch, causing the cushion to dip under his weight. Noodle joined him on the other cushion, kicking her legs that couldn't quiet reach the floor. "What's your plan this time, Murdoc?"

The Satanist raised an eyebrow from under his dirty fringe. "What do ye mean? We're safe, ain't we?" He leaned forward in his seat. "We're goin' into town when the sun's up, look for supplies. Ya know; food an' shite. 'Till then," Murdoc stood, stretching out his sore limbs, moaning when they gave a satisfying _pop_. "Wash up an' get rest, because I will not have someone lag behind, got et?" With that, the bassist made his way to the stairs for a well-deserved shower on his achy muscles.

Russel nodded, standing up and motions for Noodle to follow, and was about to tell her about another bedroom she could use when—

_Thump!_

"Blimey!"

Rushing past Murdoc, Noodle took the stairs two at a time, Russel following behind her. Growling, the satanic bassist followed the duo into the bedroom the blue boy occupied. When there, he saw that both Russel and Noodle were just standing in the doorway, staring down at the teen in shock. He had somehow tangled himself up in his sleep and fell off of the bed, blinking up at the group like a deer in headlights.

Only there were no visible eyes.

His eyes were complete black holes, vacant.

_My God_, Murdoc thought to himself staring into the deep black, depths._ That's beautiful_.


End file.
